“Zalindov’s two crematoriums,” Kiva said without feeling. “Most of the dead are brought here for burning to prevent the spread of disease.” She pointed to the non-smoking chimney. “The second is only used when the furnace in the first breaks down, or in cases of mass outbreaks and executions, when one isn’t enough on its own.”

Jaren’s brows rose. “Do those happen often?”

“Outbreaks? Sometimes.”

“No.” His gaze was on the smoke rising lazily into the air. “Executions.”

Kiva didn’t dare glance at Naari as she answered, “Every day.”

Jaren’s face was shuttered when he turned back to her. “And how often en masse?”

“Not as common, but not unheard of, either,” she shared, almost relieved that he was asking these questions. He needed to know what his future could be if he put one toe out of line.

He examined her face, and she let him, hoping he could read how serious she was, how much peril they were all in, every moment of every day.

Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly when the action jolted his head. “I see.”

And she believed him. There was a furrow between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before, a shadow over his features, a new weight upon his shoulders.

Maybe he would survive, after all.

. . . At least until his body could no longer stand whatever work was in store for him.

“Come on, there’s more to see,” Kiva said, heading toward the center of the grounds.

They moved from gravel to a mixture of dead grass and dirt as she thought about how best to give Jaren some bearings.

“Zalindov is shaped like a hexagon,” she said as they continued walking. “Six outer walls thick enough to be patrolled from the top, with fully manned watchtowers at each of the six corners.” She waved toward the ones they could see from their position, then indicated beyond them. “Given your state when you arrived, I’m guessing you were unconscious for the last part of your journey?” At his confirmation, she went on, “Then you missed the real welcome into Zalindov. Before the iron entrance gates, before the farms and the quarries and the lumberyard and everything else outside of the immediate walls, there’s another perimeter fence, with eight more watchtowers. There’s also a constant patrol of guards. And dogs.” She made sure he was paying attention when she warned, “Don’t bother trying to escape. No prisoner has ever made it past the perimeter fence alive.”

Jaren didn’t reply. It seemed he was finally beginning to comprehend the reality of Zalindov. The color that had steadily returned to his face was fading again, though that could also be because of his increasing pain. Kiva had no idea how long the concoction she’d given him would last. He likely wouldn’t be standing for much longer.